


Herald's Glory

by Dragondizzy



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Grand Ball, Kissing, Love, Magic, Other, Post-Game(s), Skyhold, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-10 15:10:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3294968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragondizzy/pseuds/Dragondizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the death of the Corypheus, and the triumph of the Inquisition, Aarien finds herself at a loss - without the mark, what is she? With a grand ball to be held at Skyhold, she gets swept into a plot that will test her resolve once again.</p><p>The events that follow test her relationships, test her mettle, and show that winning is not always the happily ever after the bards sing about.</p><p>Fantastic art in Chap 4 :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cards

“Ah HA, suck it dwarf.” Aarien fanned her cards on the table before him, an irrepressible grin smearing across her face. Varric glanced at her cards, back to his own hand, then threw them down with a huff.

“I never lost this much in Kirkwall.” Reaching forward, she scooped the winnings towards her, giggling. Winking at the passing elf she’d startled with her outburst, Aarien set about counting the coins – very slowly, very deliberately.

“Well, when you’re locked in a tower for most of your life, you find things to do.” Varric glared at her and muttered under his breath, the mains words being ‘Anders’ and 'shit’. Lighting his pipe, he sucked while gathering up the cards with his free hand. They were sat at his usual table in the Grand Hall, the large space strangely quiet, just a few servants and officials wandering past now and again. Varric clenched the pipe between his teeth, freeing up his hands to shuffle the deck.

“I’m not letting you get away that easy,” he mumbled, beginning to deal out once again. Aarien chuckled, picking up a coin and spinning it on the table.

“If you’re that desperate to lose more money, who am I to stop you.” He picked up his hand, giving her a sly look once he’d examined his cards. Aarien shook her head with a smirk.  Picking up her pile, she propped her elbows up as she sorted through them.

Afternoons like this were bliss – no responsibilities, good company, and fun. Now all that business was through with the big bad Magister, she found herself with more spare time to squander away on card games and such. Albeit that it was only all finished with a few weeks ago, but she was enjoying the stress-free days and sleep-filled nights. Maker be damned if anyone tried to stop her.

Squinting at him over the top of her cards, she chose two to discard, and picked up replacements. She sighed as Varric watched her closely, still trying to work out her tells and bluffs. Of course he thought _he_ was unreadable, but she’d noticed he chewed his pipe when the hand was good, and put it down when it was bad. Not that she’d ever tell him of course, she liked winning.

“I thought mages had secret trysts behind bookcases in the Circles, not play cards.” He discarded one and took another, raising an eyebrow that was too blatantly an attempt at misdirection. His pipe went down on the table. Aarien rolled her eyes.

“Of course, a new lover every day. It was the down time between sessions that we played cards.” Scrutinising her hand, she decided to stick, sliding half of the coins she had across the table to rest between them. Varric whistled, tapping his fingers on the table as he narrowed his eyes first at her, then his cards. Aarien waited patiently, trying her best to keep her expression unreadable. Fishing more gold from his pocket, he matched her bet. Chuckling, he spread his cards, looking far too pleased with himself.

“I’ll take my money back now.” Aarien leant forward, nodding appreciatively before sitting back again. She put on the farce of looking worried, before slamming her hand down once again.

“Read 'em and weep.” Varric winced as he scanned over the cards, a full house, before groaning and dropping his forehead to the table. A chair scraped back as Aarien jumped to her feet, whooping and clapping her hands with glee. The guards stationed by the door tried hard not to laugh as she did so, staring very intently forward. One snorted.

“I’m never playing cards with you again.” Reaching for his ale, he swallowed it in one as he watched her grab the coins by the fistful, placing them into a pouch at her hip. Aarien reached an arm round him, half-hugging as she planted a sloppy kiss on his head. Grumbling he waved her away.

“Don’t worry, I’ll buy you lots of drinks later.”  She held up the full purse and jangled it in front of him, waggling her eyebrows.

“You mean I’ll be buying _myself_ lots of drinks later.” Shaking his head, he winked at her and cracked a smile. Standing, he stretched, and picked up his tankard. “I’ll go lick my wounds. Looks like you’re wanted elsewhere.” He nodded behind her. Turning, she saw Josephine making a bee-line towards them, a determined expression creasing her brow into a frown. Josie waved when she caught her eye, and picked up the pace.

“Crap.” Aarien mumbled under her breath. That look usually spelled out being told to do something she really didn’t want to do.  Looking back to Varric, she found him already disappearing through the library door. _Bastard._ Tucking the bulging pouch into her waistband, she faced Josephine with a smile.

“Inquisitor, there you are. I’m calling everyone together for a meeting in the war room.” Josephine halted to an abrupt stop, holding her board and candle up as she began to scribble. That thing was glued to her hand, Aarien just knew it. Sera had put something on the back of it for sure.

“Do you think it should still be called a war room? Now the war part is over? How about 'mild skirmish room’? 'Slight misdeed room’? Ooo, or 'bad decision room’? Multiple meaning, that one.” The glare over the top of the board answered that question.

“How about 'political nonsense room’?”

Aarien jumped at the new voice, turning to grin at the Commander. How he moved so silently sometimes, clad in all that armour, she’d never know. He smirked back, cheeks flushed from the brisk walk over from his tower. Chuckling, she leant over to peck him on the cheek, deepening his colour even further. He coughed, and looked embarrassed.

“What, there’s no one here. Josie’s making love to her notes, Varric’s gone, the guards already saw me dance today, they’re good -” Cullen coughed and shook his head, stifling a laugh as Josephine turned her glare on him. Rubbing a hand over his stubble, he ignored the scathing look to raise a questioning eyebrow at Aarien.

“Varric was here?”

“Oh ho yes, and I took all his money.”  She patted the pouch on her hip, jangling it slightly. He looked to the bulge in her waistband and nodded approvingly. The way his eyes lingered on her body, and dragged unashamedly over her form made her distinctly try to remember that she had, indeed, put clothes on this morning. Their gaze met, his hazel eyes holding a mischievous glint, and she felt herself reddening.

“I’m surprised he even plays with you any more, he won’t go anywhere near Josephine.”

She bit her lip as his eyes widened, both dragged back to the memory. That glorious evening where Cullen had run off stark naked to the barracks, the candle-light glinting on his -

“Stop that, I know what you’re thinking about, and no, it’s not happening again.”  Aarien, broken from dreamy reverie, winked as she smiled at him, noticing how he was suddenly a lot closer. A deep breath drew in the sharp tang of metal and leather, mellowed by soap.  Josephine continued to scratch away, completely oblivious.

“Hmm, if you say so. In the case of Varric, well, no one else will play with _him_. He gets to play, with the faint hope he might win.” Their arms were touching now, the warmth from him rolling up her arm like a caress. Those lips, that scar, his mouth curling into a coy smile that filled her vision. Words sounded in the distance. Someone was talking. Cullen was talking.

“Hmm?” Aarien broke herself from the trance, dragging her eyes up from his mouth to his amused gaze. The pools of honey staring back were not much of a relief. Cullen chuckled softly, and pointed.

“I said, we should follow Josephine.”

“Wha -”

Turning, she saw Josie striding away, already halfway across the the hall. Letting out a small cough and with an apologetic smile, she reluctantly stepped away from him, following in the ambassador’s wake. She heard the creak of leather and straps as Cullen walked behind her, and could feel his eyes boring into her back. _Just my back?_ Grinning at the thought, she quickly stopped when she saw Josephine’s expression as she held open the door. Instead she hurried forwards, slipping through the opening, walking past Josie’s desk up to the war room. Leliana was lounging against the door, examining her nails in boredom.

“I thought you said it was urgent.”

Aarien shrugged as Josephine surged up the steps past her, casting a sidelong glare. Leliana side-stepped as she pushed open the large door to the room. They all filed in after her, taking up the familiar positions around the large table map. There were fewer counters on it now, less trouble for her to deal with. In fact, it had been a couple of weeks since Aarien had left Skyhold, and she felt restless. As much as she love lounging about and playing cards, nothing was like exploring new places, finding treasures, battling dragons. Maybe not so much the dragons.

“I had to wait for these two to stop cooing at each other.” Josephine finally put down the writing board, and directed a sweet smile at Aarien. Leliana snorted, snapping a hand up to hide a smirk. Cullen was steadily returning his previous shade of crimson. Aarien cleared her throat and picked up a counter to examine, in detail.

“We’re all here, what’s the news?” Josephine’s eyes narrowed for brief second, before she adopted an air of excitement. She began fidgeting on the spot, hands clasped together like she was about to burst.

“The nobility around Thedas have been harassing us for weeks now – they wish to meet their saviour, the Herald of Andraste.” Aarien rolled her eyes, and rolled the piece back onto the map. Catching Cullen’s eye, he rolled his in reply. She had to suck a cheek to stifle a laugh.

“Now that Corypheus is dead, and we have cleaned up all but a few of his remaining supporters, I propose…a ball. Here at Skyhold.” Her face broke into such a big, happy grin, that Aarien had to bite back the very unsavoury word about to pop out of her mouth. Leliana clapped her hands, mirroring Josephine’s excitement. Aarien looked between them, mouth set in a grim line.

“A ball? What? So you can parade me around like the prize hog at a fête? No. No, no, no.” She shook her head and her hands, conveying as much 'no’ as possible.  

“I agree with Inquisitor – despite what you say, I don’t think it’s safe to expose her to that many people. Especially since so many will try a power grab.” _Thank you, you beautiful man you._ Aarien looked to him with undisguised gratitude. She knew she could count on him. Leliana groaned, hands anchored on the table as she leant forward.

“She was fine in Halamshiral. And you don’t like nobles, or balls, or politics, so you don’t get a say.” Cullen bristled, opening his mouth to argue. Josephine interrupted.

“We will give you the guest list to approve – if there’s anyone you think would be a danger, they won’t be invited. Also, you don’t have to attend, if you so wish.” He closed his mouth, and contemplated for a moment.

“Fine, but expect a lot to be cut.” _Bastard. Traitor._ Aarien glared at him.

“You just said it wouldn’t be safe. Now it’s fine. And why does he get that choice?” Shaking her head, she scowled at each of them. “Don’t I get a say in this?”

Leliana and Josephine laughed, while Cullen looked a little ashamed. _And you should, damn you._ Huffing, she crossed her arms over her chest, and waited for the usual attempt to convince her to play along. As they always did. About everything. Why was she even here, when they seemed to just do what they wanted anyway?

“Look, this will placate the nobility for the next age – they can tell stories of how they met the legendary Herald.”

“And I get to tell stories of how a bunch perfumed pricks harassed me for an evening.”

Cullen snorted. _Too late, pretty boy._ Leliana sidled around the table to sling an arm around her shoulders.

“We’ll do all the planning and preparation, you won’t have to do a thing. Just turn up on the evening,  smile at people, drink some wine, eat some cake.” Aarien’s nose twitched.

“Cake?”

“Yes, there will be tables of cakes, the little ones with berries that you love so much.” _She pulled the cake card._ Aarien grumbled, reluctantly nodding. Something that sounded like a squeak emanated from Josephine as she picked up her board again, gleeful giggling following soon after as she started to scribble more notes. Leliana squeezed her shoulders then released her, returning to her place at the head of the map.

Cullen mouthed a silent 'sorry’ as he shrugged. Sticking her tongue out at him, she rubbed at the scar on her hand. Surely it wouldn’t be too bad? Just an evening, then she can return to  …whatever she did now. Sighing, she perched herself on the edge of the table, turning to look at Leliana.

“Is there anything else to discuss? Any bandits I can burn to a crisp? Any Darkspawn raids? I’ll take a rampaging nug at this point.” She fingered a counter, pushing it in circles around the map, feeling hopeful. Leliana chuckled softly.

“I’m sorry Inquisitor, but everything is quiet, for the moment. My agents are currently still trying to wheedle out the remaining Venatori, but they’ve disappeared deep into Tevinter, making it difficult.” Aarien grunted, and moved the piece north to sit on the Imperium, looking at it longingly. Too quiet, no rifts, nobody to save…what use was she now? She turned her attention fully to the spy master, crossing her legs, bracing her weight on her hands as she leant back.

“Aren’t you supposed to be off sorting out the chantry, your Divine-ness?” Leliana shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny, toying with the the edge of her gloves, gaze not meeting Aarien’s.

“I…wanted to make sure everything was sorted here first. My…arrival in Val Royeaux is not expected for a few months.” Aarien nodded, leaving it there. She wasn’t going to press  for her true feelings on the matter – it was obvious she had reservations, but if she wanted to talk about it, she would. For now, Aarien was actually relieved that she’d decided to stay, for however long that might be. Hopping off the table, she bowed to them all with a flourish.

“If that is all, I’m off to spend Varric’s gold in the tavern.”  Leliana laughed, while Josephine completely ignored her, still frantically writing, lost to the world of lists and letters. Cullen crossed around the table to stand beside her, proffering his arm with a smile.

“I’ll join you, if that’s acceptable m'lady?” Aarien fluttered eyelashes and adopted her best nasal Orlesian accent as she slid her arm through his, resting a palm on his cold iron gauntlet.

“Why you iz too kind, Zir Coolloon.” He snorted and led her out of the door, Leliana following behind, shaking her head, an amused smile on her lips. They traipsed through Josephine’s chamber (who they’d left behind) and out into the hall.

The warmth seeping through her arm from being sandwiched between Cullen’s bicep and chest was causing the rest of her to heat up, and not in entirely temperature related ways. Especially as he held her tightly to him, his other hand placed gently over hers on his arm. _Damn this infernal armour._ She trembled slightly at the thought of skin touching skin, swallowing hard when they paused, allowing for Leliana to address them.  

“Enjoy your drink, see you later.”

“Sure you don’t want to join us, plenty of coin to go around.”

“No, I have a few messages to send, thank you.” With that she sauntered off towards the library door, head bowed in thought. Shrugging, Aarien pulled Cullen onwards, heading out of the large doors into the mountain air. The wall of cold hit her, causing a shiver to run down her spine, a shuddering breath releasing a white cloud. Long shadows were cast across the courtyard, the sun sinking below the towering ramparts of the hold, darkness heralding in a frosty evening.

Pulling her closer still, Cullen led her down the steps and towards the promising warmth of the tavern. Walking in companionable silence, she examined the Commander sneakily from the corner of her eye. A content smile and soft eyes focused on their destination; she let her gaze drop to the scar on his lip and surrounding stubble. She remembered the feel of it ghosting across her skin; her neck, her shoulder, her thigh…

That night spent in his tower, when he’d taken her on his desk, replayed regularly in her mind, not least now. Since then it had been all mayhem and doom, and they’d not been together since. There had been a…hesitation. The want was definitely there, oh yes, but apart from moments of closeness like this and the odd frantic kiss, they were yet to be together again. Aarien knew Cullen was confused, but his decency had given her space and time. To be honest, she didn’t quite know why she was keeping him at arms length. Something didn’t feel quite right however, not quite right with her, and she needed to figure out what.

“Is there something on my face?” Looking amused, his eyebrows were raised in question. Realising she had been openly staring, Aarien blushed and ducked her head.

“Er..no, I was just…thinking.” Smirking, he released her arm and pushed open the tavern door, beckoning her to go first. The smell of ale and tobacco smoke wafted out to assault her senses, but the accompanying warmth made her hurry inside. It was quite busy, a low level of chatter interspersed with the odd raucous laugh. A roaring fire blazed in the hearth.

Spotting Bull in his usual corner, she waved a hand to him, and made her way to the bar. Cullen followed closely, a few off duty soldiers straightening up automatically as he passed. Ignoring them and their incredulous stares at his presence in the tavern, he leaned on the bar next to her.

“Anything in particular?” Aarien passed a couple of her hard earned coins over to Cabot, who slopped two tankards on the bar in front of them. Flicking a sud off of her arm, she sipped her ale, not looking him in the eye.

“Hmm? No, not really.” Cullen gripped his drink and took a big swig, his manner suddenly tense. Rubbing his neck, he placed a hand on hers, and coughed nervously.

“There’s something I want to talk to you about. Though not here, upstairs maybe? Where it’s quieter?” His eyes were hopeful, a small smile curving the corner of his mouth. _Crap crap crap._ Aarien just nodded and gathered her tankard, feeling his tension pass to her. Yes, she wanted his lips and hands all over her, but she wasn’t ready for the heart felt confessions just yet. _And in the tavern, really? He must be desperate._

They crossed the room and headed up the stairs, as she felt her stomach steadily drop. _What do I say? I still love you but some thing’s wrong and I don’t know what, but it’s not your fault._ Right, because that sounded reassuring. Reaching the landing, she spied Varric sitting at a table in the corner, Sera perched on one chair next to him, Cole curled in the window behind. Veering quickly over, she slid into a seat next to the elf, trying not to notice the frustrated look on Cullen’s face as he sat opposite her.

“See, big boots here will solve. Talk, yeah? Birds twittering, won’t shut up.”Gulping a mouthful of ale, she smiled at Sera. Rolling the sentence around her head for a moment, she guessed the question.

“There’s going to be a ball in Skyhold. I see word has already gotten out.” She took a quick glance over at Cullen, who was still looking at her rather pointedly. Turning her attention to Varric, she tried to ignore him. Varric, of course, missed none of their exchange.

“Ah, the people of Skyhold, staunch gossipers in the face of adversity.” Chuckling, he put down his quill. Supposedly, he came to the tavern to write in peace and quiet, but as he had found Sera and Cole instead, she knew he loved the company more.

“I see you’ve already spent some of your winnings, care to share? And maybe tell us more about this ball.” Aarien laughed and dug in her pouch to bring out a few coins. She rose to get another round from downstairs, but glanced back when she heard another chair scrape across the floor. Cullen walked stiffly to her and held out his palm.

“I will place the order, I need to return to work anyway.”  He said it so quietly, and with the faintest hint of disappointment, that her heart constricted in her chest. Slowly, she slid the coins into his hand, and looked up. Confusion and hurt played across his face, as he turned and marched back down the steps.

Pausing for a moment, she returned to her chair, noticing that Cullen had barely touched his ale. _Crap._ Rubbing her face, she attempted a smile and laughed as Sera babbled on about what she could do to nobles at balls. With their balls.

Varric noticed the single tear that was quickly brushed away, but said nothing.


	2. Shoes

Aarien lounged back on the bed, examining the overly flattering portrait of Varric on the back of the book. Managing to pry the latest copy of ‘Swords and Shields’ from Cassandra’s grasp had been no easy task – the promise to convince Varric to speed up the next instalment was the only reason she had it.

Flopping forward on her stomach, bare feet resting on the pillows, she propped her chin on a hand and started to flick through the book. Absent-mindedly, she twirled long chestnut hair through her fingers as she scanned the pages before her.

Hiding in her room was turning out to be a good plan – Josephine had gone mad arranging this bloody ball, and despite what was promised, was trying to get Aarien to make decisions. Why Josie thought she’d be a good person to ask what colour napkins should be, she would never know. She’d been avoiding her for the past couple of weeks, since the decision on the ball had been made, finding any excuse to be elsewhere, slipping away to her bedroom. Of course, another reason to avoid leaving her chambers was the possibility of bumping into Cullen, but she pushed that to the back of her mind. Ball planning, crazy ambassadors, that was the reason.

Sighing, she flicked further forward through the book. Nothing but juicy smut would cheer her up now. Alighting on the phrase 'pulsating member’, she giggled and leaned forward, keen to find out what antics the Knight-Captain was up to. She paused for a second, a thought crossing her mind as to whether Varric wrote these from experience, or made up what he thought people wanted. A mixture of the both? The tales of his friend, the pirate Isabela, were implausible and ridiculous at best. Shrugging, she resolved to ask him, despite the twisted answer she’d probably get.

Wiggling to get comfortable, she jumped into the world of the Knight Captain and her lover. So engrossed was she, that when the small bell rang, signalling a visitor, she pitched forward in alarm and smacked her head against the gilt, Orlesian bed frame. The string of expletives that followed would have made Sera blush. The bell system installed by Josephine saved lugging herself downstairs every time someone was at the door, but sweet Andraste, the thing gave her a heart attack every time. At least she wasn’t holding wine in this instance.

Clutching her forehead, she slowly reached across and pulled a rope next to the bed, producing the tinkle of a bell in the distance, down the tower, by the door. She also slid the book under her pillows, saving an awkward conversation with whom ever was calling on her. Waiting for the black spots in her vision start to fade, she caught a muffled call for help float up from the stairs.

Standing, wobbling slightly, she padded over to the staircase and peered down. Josephine was trying to make her way up, but she was having difficulties carrying a large bundle of fabric, and ruffles, and lace…Maker, was that a dress? Aarien went down to her, and picked up the other end of what she _really_ hoped wasn’t a dress. Josephine’s flustered face peered around the mess.

“Inquisitor, thank you. Help me get this upstairs would you?” Aarien slowly walked backwards up the steps, bearing half of the weight. At the top, Josephine signalled for her to drop the end, and she flicked the dress out, grasping what Aarien guessed were the shoulders.

“So, what do you think?”

She held a hand to her mouth as she properly examined the dress. The main expanse was orange silk, adorned with golden ruffles and lace. Around the neck was a large, uncomfortable-looking ruff; the skirts were made up of many, many layers of silk and a mesh-type fabric; and she felt slightly sick just looking at it. She noticed how Josephine was struggling under the weight of it, tilting slightly with a hopeful expression. All she could do was frown. Words weren’t safe at this moment in time.

Shaking her head, Josephine man-handled the dress over to the bed, laying it flat, then proceeded to try and smooth it out. With the countless adornments however, it seemed impossible. Aarien noticed a box under her arm, that she placed on the bed next to the monstrosity.

“Vivienne picked it out for you, it’s the height of fashion in Orlais at the moment.”Crossing the room to stand next to her before the bed, Aarien stared. The feeling of nausea built – but she wasn’t sure if throwing up on it might actually be an improvement. Maybe she hit her head harder than she thought. Dragging her eyes away, she turned to address Josephine’s questioning expression.

“It’s _orange_.”

“Yes, Inquisitor. But do you like it?”

“Can I wear my Halamshiral tunic instead?” She hated the heavy velvet thing, but it was still better than this. A potato sack would be better than this. Josephine sighed in annoyance, crossing her arms and tapping her foot as she regarded Aarien. Glaring, she crossed her arms back in defiance.

“You’ll be the talk of the evening.” Aarien snorted ungracefully, reaching out to poke at a section of ruffles.

“For entirely the wrong reasons. If it’s that brilliant, why don’t you wear it?” Josephine’s stern demeanour broke for a second, a flash of mischief appearing, if only briefly.

“I would not want to upstage your…magnificence.”

“Hmm.”

“It’s not that bad.” Throwing her hands up in disgust, Aarien stalked over to her armchair and threw herself into it with a huff. Anything to get that dress out of view. She resumed her unimpressed glare as Josephine came to sit opposite, her own look one of irritation. Crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap, she was still tapping her foot.

“Here you are, the Inquisitor that killed Corypheus, and you’re having a tantrum about a dress.” Is that what it had come to? She should do what she’s told because everything else now is meaningless? Sighing, she rubbed her eyes, feeling incredibly tired suddenly. _No, I’m being petty._ It was just a dress. But she wasn’t going to give in that easily. Time to change tactics.

Aarien slid off of her chair to kneel before Josephine, taking her hand and adopting a sorrowful air. Josie narrowed her eyes, knowing her Inquisitor too well to trust this sudden change in attitude. She waited in silence.

“Please, _please,_ Josie. Don’t make me wear that. I’ll do anything, just…don’t make me orange.” Aarien released her hand to start mock bowing at her ambassador’s feet, chanting whispered pleas as she did so. A small smile curved the corner of Josephine’s mouth, and she shook her head. Despite herself she started giggling, as Aarien’s bowing became more fervent.

“Fine, fine! Please stop. I’ll find something else for you to wear. But the condition is that you get more involved in the planning of this ball. It is for you, after all.” _Dammit, should have seen that coming._ Still, it was probably better than wearing that dress. She had been holed up in her room for far too long now. Had to face the music sooner or later. Or the napkins. Stopping her worship of Josephine, Aarien sat back on her haunches and grinned broadly.

“It’s a deal. If you make me wear it though, I may have to murder you in your sleep.”

“Who’s murdering who?” The women turned to see Leliana appear at the top the stairs, somehow managing not to make a sound up the creaky wooden steps. Passing across the room, her eyes caught the dress on the bed, and she rushed over to examine it.

“This is your dress? Oh, it’s beautiful.” Leliana ran her hands over the silk and frills, her eyes glistening with unabashed joy. Aarien stood, brushing the dust off of her knees, and looked at her incredulously.

“You’re joking, right? And no, it’s not my dress.” She smiled sweetly at Josephine, who looked away, exasperated, but with a smile tugging her mouth. Leliana spied the box next to the dress, and quickly tore off the lid. She gently lifted out a gold court shoe, decorated with orange ruffles, bows, lace, embroidery – so much that shouldn’t be on one shoe. Holding it to her chest, her eyes fluttered closed as she squeezed it gently, willing it to merge with her into one glorious, golden ruffled being.

A snort brought her back to reality, and she opened her eyes to see the Inquisitor staring at her in wonder, and Josephine holding a hand over her mouth to contain the giggles.

“I knew you liked shoes, but…not that much.” Aarien walked over to Leliana, gently prising the shoe out of her hands and holding it up to examine. “Gold and orange, seriously?” Leliana snatched the shoe back, and placed it lovingly into the box.

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand the finer details of Orlesian culture.”

“I agree, they are certainly wasted on me. Thank the Maker I don’t have to wear them, or that dress.” The spy master made a disapproving noise, and crossed her arms.

“You can’t still be upset over this ball, it’s in your honour after all – a celebration of your achievements!” _Why?_ Aarien wanted to scream it, her mood darkening. _I was a tool, a key for a lock. Now that’s done, what am I?_ What was there to celebrate, apart from the fact she didn’t die doing the only thing she could. She was nothing special, no chosen one by godly edict – now she was just an apostate on borrowed time before people got bored of her. Celebrate the win, of course, just don’t drag her into it.

Leliana, noticing the internal conflict warring across Aarien’s face, took a step towards her, reaching out. Aarien backed away, casting her gaze to the floor, gripping her arms as she crossed them, trying to control a growing anger.

“Celebrate all you want, but don’t force me to enjoy what wasn’t my choice.” Her tone was flat and dead, causing Josephine to twist on the couch to see what was happening.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were that against a ball.” Aarien shrugged, gaze still plastered to the floor. Josephine left her chair to cross the room and stand beside them. The concerned looks they were undoubtedly giving her, she knew she was about to be ganged up on. _Just leave me be._

“Is…everything…okay with you, Inquisitor?” Aarien waved a hand dismissively, stepping away from their mothering, walking to the window to lean against the frame. She never tired of looking out over that view, snow-capped mountains shining in the sun, fluffy spools of cloud skimming across the peaks. Sighing, she tilted her head back.

“I’m fine, I’m just worried about your taste in clothes.” Although the play at humour was there, her tone was weary, and quiet. Seeing their frowns deepen, Aarien attempted a weak smile.

“Just tired is all. I’ll be perky and ready to help tomorrow morning.” She turned her gaze back to the scenery, watching an eagle circle in the distance, shivering although there was a fire crackling away in the fireplace next to her. She could imagine their shared look of worry, and the silent fight to say something more. Eventually, after a stretch of silence, they thought better of it.

“Good day then, Aarien.” She just nodded in reply, hearing the creak of steps as they descended her tower, and the thump of the door closing.

 _What am I doing?_  Aarien felt the onset of a headache, and rubbed her forehead where she’d bashed it. Turning from the window, she ambled over to the bed, where the dress still lay in all its glory.

 _Why am I pushing them away?_ Gathering the dress in her arms, she bundled it into the bottom of her wardrobe, poking bits back as she tried to close the door. Vivienne would have her head if she saw her doing this, but she was beyond the point of caring. Succeeding at concealing it away, Aarien went and sat on the bed.

 _Because it will be easier when they realise I’m no longer needed._ Catching sight of herself in the mirror across the room, she examined a tired and worn out face. Dark circles sat beneath weary blue eyes; attempting a smile just brought attention to worry lines she didn’t remember being there. Not that she really recognised herself any more. As much as she felt her time at the Circle was insufferable and akin to imprisonment, she had been carefree and naïve, no worries of the world to trouble her. Then the Circles rebelled, she went to the Conclave, and then…

The whirlwind of the past eighteen months had left her with nothing. A big climax and then… _nothing._ She felt hollow, empty. Ridiculously, she found herself wishing for the mark to come back, another hole to be torn in the sky. Selfish, but true. She liked who she was when that mark was on her hand, how people treated her. Now…just a scar of what once was, on her hand, and on the inside.

 _Who am I?_ Casting herself backwards, she laid on the bed, staring at the impossibly high stone ceiling. Reaching out, she shot a fork of lighting into the space above her, watching it crackle and claw forward before vanishing. It released some of the tension, her back relaxing down into the comfort of the bed.

Even Cullen, who she had dared to love, was unsure of her now. Though that was probably all her doing too. _Wait, not probably, definitely._ Exhaling slowly, she rolled over and searched for the book under her pillow. If she couldn’t sort her own life out, she could lose herself in someone else’s. Pulling it towards her, she admired the armoured heroine on the front cover.

“All of your problems are solved by a 'pulsating member’.”

 _Well, can’t say I would complain._ The memory of the desk encounter flashed forward. Chuckling, she opened the book to where she’d left it, forcing her own dalliances to the back of her mind.

Noticing, finally, that the shoes were missing, she started to laugh. Hysterically so. Clutching her stomach while gasping for air, she imagined Leliana cuddling with them on her bed, which set her off again. Wiping her eyes, she lay there panting, holding the book to her chest.

_Maker, I’m a mess._


	3. Doubt

‘Come dear, it’s not that difficult.”

Aarien stared at the swatches of fabric Vivienne was holding up. They were exactly the same shade of crimson. To her, anyway. Sighing, she pointed to the left one, balancing her elbow on the arm of the chair to rest a cheek on her fist. The Enchanter tutted, and kept the right one as she flung Aarien’s choice onto a pile of discarded samples.

Helping to plan seemed to amount to spending hours with Vivienne and Josephine, choosing colours, fabrics, dishes, music – an endless parade of options. Fun, you would think, apart from most of her decisions being immediately dismissed by the other women. She had put her foot down on the cake, threatening to torch Vivienne’s hat if they didn’t have the little ones with the berries. Maker, let there be one thing to look forward to.

Vivienne slid herself onto the chaise-longue opposite, a click of her fingers causing a servant to stumble forward with a tray of drinks. Shaking her head at the display, Aarien took the goblet with thanks, and swallowed some of the light, fruity alcohol. Never mind how annoying this was, the wine was good. Even if it was ridiculously early in the morning. Sipping her drink, Vivienne examined her over the glass, eyes showing undisguised disappointment. Maybe Aarien should be more insulted, but that was how she always looked at her. She felt pity was preferable to hatred. Sometimes.

“Josephine told me of your reservations about the ball. There’s nothing to worry about dear, it’ll be a roaring success.”

 _For you maybe._ Aarien was under no allusions that Vivienne saw this as her own chance for social climbing, and would use her in any way possible to ensure it. That alone, made her want this god-forsaken session to end so that she could go hide in her room once again. She’d already run away from Cullen once this morning – the panic of seeing him stride towards her across from the stables, followed by the lousy excuse of needing to relieve herself. Yes, she went there. He wasn’t impressed.

Setting down her drink, she tried to give Vivienne a reassuring smile, but gave up when it came out as more of a grimace.

“I’m all for it.” _Liar_ “What do we need to do next?” Vivienne’s eyes narrowed in scrutiny for a moment, before she stood and swept back across the room, all elegance and poise in one swift movement. Aarien felt a pang of jealousy - she was pretty sure she had a gait like she’d just ridden a horse for half a day. Which was usually true. The lessons of poise and posture from her youth had diminished, replaced by ruthless killing and callouses.  Aarien smiled into her glass, unbidden memories of childhood floating forward. A slap on the wrist for slouching, another for loosing a profanity. It seemed like everything had come full circle, and here she was being prepared for nobility once again.

Vivienne, ignoring her drift into day-dreaming, sorted through more fabric, pulling out a shimmering pale gold cloth that brought Aarien back to the present, the glint catching her eye. Setting down the drink, she went to stand beside her, picking up the cloth and letting it slide over her arm.

“It’s beautiful.” she murmured, watching as it caught the light in a thousand places, flowing like liquid honey. Vivienne watched her for a second, before taking the fabric away and placing it on the discard pile.

“Not for you my dear, it would wash you out completely.” _But, pretty._ Aarien shrugged, and picked up one of the small cakes that had been brought up from the kitchen for them to taste. An arched eyebrow wasn’t going to stop her stuffing her face with these while the opportunity was present. _Ooo, coconut._ Snatching another before Vivienne moved the tray out of reach, she went and sat back down.

“Why do you even need me here?” The words sort of came out, around the cake. Shaking her head in disgust, Vivienne continued on with the fabric, waving her hand to bring another servant over, who she started to pile things on.

“You were becoming a hermit darling, you can’t waste all your time dawdling in your room.” She paused, and turned to Aarien. The servant next to her trembled slightly under the weight of fabric rolls. “You’re the hero, people need to see you and _you_ need to be involved with the goings on of your keep. You’re letting people down.”

The last phrase hung there, and Aarien felt her face flush, as she gripped the chair arms tightly. _But it’s over._ What more could she do? It felt like a farce to still be called the Inquisitor. People should stop looking to her for the answers.

“I killed Corypheus, what I do now doesn’t matter” she said quietly, feeling anger that had been simmering within her for the past few weeks slowly build.

“Life goes on dear, you need to buck up and stop moping.” Aarien stood, her body rigid, as she turned her back on the Enchanter and made to walk out. Pausing, she whirled around to see Vivienne with hands on hips, wearing a look of pity that made Aarien fume.

“Well, maybe it shouldn’t be all on me any more. I’m no longer needed.” With that, she turned on her heel and stormed out, scattering servants in her wake. Vivienne sighed, watching her go.

“Poor thing.”

* * *

Having just about gotten her temper under control, she nearly knocked Josephine flying as she strode across the hall with her head bowed. Varric had called out too, but she couldn’t hear him over the roaring in her ears.

“Oh, Inquisitor, there you are. Are you ready for your lunch?” Aarien looked at her blankly.

“I sent a message yesterday. Your lunch with the Marquis Mont-De-Glace?” _Where have I heard that name…_ Ah yes, her first meeting with Vivienne. The man who tried to duel her within a minute of meeting her.

“Really? I’d thought they’d told him to fuck off.” Her dark mood had all but obliterated her care for trying to be polite. Josephine shifted uncomfortably.

“He is here on his Aunt’s behalf. Alphonse wishes to apologise and admire the might of the Inquisition.” Aarien snorted, crossing her arms.

“You mean his Aunt has sent him here with his tail between his legs, otherwise she’ll throw him out on his ass.”

“Your ability to read between the lines and get to the heart of the matter never fails to impress me, Inquisitor.” Aarien allowed a small smile to creep onto her face, as Josephine ducked her head to hide one of her own. Feeling the knot in her stomach loosen slightly, she let her arms flop to her side and sighed.

“Where is he then?”

“The Marquis awaits us in my office.” Aarien gestured for Josephine to lead on, reluctantly following behind her into the chamber. Standing idly waiting were three men, who she guessed to be Alphonse and two of his guard. A table had been erected, adorned with the trappings of a large lunch. _Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten all those cakes._ No, you could never have enough cake.

“Ah Inquisitor, an honour to see you again.” The Marquis bowed low, taking her hand and air kissing it. He shooed his guards to the back of the room, and pulled a chair out for her. Forcing a gracious smile, Aarien sat, watching how he ignored Josephine to plonk himself down next to her.

“A pleasure Marquis, thank you for visiting the Inquisition.” Alphonse waved a hand dismissively as he forked some meat onto his plate. He grasped his goblet and took a large swig before turning towards her. The same arrogant eyes she remembered regarded her from his golden mask.

“Yes, yes, very impressive. I am still astonished that a mere _woman_ such as yourself is considered leader of all…this.” He gestured with his glass around the room, a sly smile curling his lips.

“And the defeat of Corypheus, my, I’m sure you didn’t accomplish it alone.”

_Just…breath in…out…in…_

“The Inquisition, as a whole, is responsible for peace in Thedas, yes.” Jamming food in his mouth, he nodded as he chewed, seeing her answer as approval of his opinion. Josephine, sitting at Aarien’s side, leant forward.

“The Inquisitor is the one, however, who closed the rift, and defeated Corypheus.” Casting a sideways glare at her ambassador, Josephine smiled sweetly back.

“Yes, well, all very impossible really. How does anyone know you just didn’t make it all up?” Alphonse waved his fork around accusingly, his mouth sporting a sneer. Feeling the hum of her magic push forward, Aarien had to grip her knee to calm down. Josephine gaped at him. Taking a deep breath, she forced a reply through gritted teeth.

“In case you missed it, there was a big hole in the sky spewing out demons. Maybe it escaped your attention, but…a few other people noticed it.” The Marquis scoffed, placing his fork down to take another gulp of wine. The grip on her knee was actually painful now, and she could feel the static of her mana set her hair on end. Josephine must have felt something too, as she slowly leant away.

“Pah! I’m sure it was not as dramatic as you say. The chevaliers and mages in Orlais could have fixed it all. _You_ and this paltry force are nothing special.” He looked her up and down as he said it, a look of disdain smeared across his face. Alphonse then sat back, and leered at her.

 _Nothing special._ What was it with everyone confirming her own fears today? _You’re letting people down._ A spark ran over the hand death gripping her knee, causing Josephine to jump. She fixed her gaze on the pompous moron sat before her, rage bubbling up to roar in her ears.

Abruptly Aarien stood, the chair scraping and toppling over, her glare never leaving his face. Alphonse was looking a little nervous now, casting frantic glances at to Josephine to see if this behaviour was normal. Striding forward, she gripped him by the scruff and pulled him forward, her nose brushing his mask as she forced him to look her in the eye. The squeal he emitted gave her immense satisfaction.

“You are alive today, because I allowed it.” Her tone was low and gruff. “Twice in fact I believe – that night at Duke Ghislain’s, and now today.” He made to protest but she shook him, allowing a web of lightening to crackle across her face and over her body. Alphonse whimpered, then nodded.

“Good.” Releasing him, she stepped back. The air felt thick and close, charged with static energy, _her_ energy. She spun on a heel to leave, spraying sparks around the room as she turned . The guards had not moved from their position, fear marring their features, frozen in place. Josephine looked annoyed, exasperated even, to who she just shrugged. _What, you asked me to lunch._ Marching towards the door, she paused at the frame, turning to look at the Marquis, who was still trembling in his chair.

“When your Aunt asks you how your visit went, you say 'very well’.” Alphonse nodded quickly, a damp patch spreading across his crotch. Winking at Josephine, she stomped off into the hall. 

* * *

  
*Thwack*

_**You** are nothing special._

*Thwack*

_You’re letting people down._

*Thwack*

_Who am I?_

Aarien paused, sucking in air as her chest heaved, leaning on her staff. After the events of the day, she really needed to hit something. Many times. With a stick. The chosen victim was a training dummy outside the blacksmith – Cassandra’s usual haunt, but on seeing the Inquisitor’s hovering dark cloud, had made a quick exit.

Shifting her stance, she twirled the staff around to smack the dummy in the head and chest, spinning to launch another blow at the groin. Grunting, she repeated the manoeuvre, feeling sweat trickle down her back into the padded training leather. The aim was to beat the crap out of this until she was too tired to think. Then hopefully her brain would stop rolling over the same incessant doubts. The likelihood was slim, but this was the best option at this point in time. Also, there was just the joy of hitting stuff with a stick.

She was giving the dummy a good thrashing when a shadow fell across her. Turning, she felt her stomach drop as she saw Cullen standing, in training leathers, holding a staff with a shy smile. _Not now, of all the times, not now._ Nodding at him with a weary smile, she walked over, wiping tendrils of hair from her sweaty brow.

“I think it’s dead.” He jerked his head to the dummy, twirling the staff in his hands.

“My mighty wrath has been unleashed on him, yes.” Aarien leant on her staff, panting. Cullen chuckled, and stamped his stave onto the ground.

“From what I hear from Josephine, he’s not the only one.” She sighed, and dropped her gaze to the floor. _Really not in the mood for this._ Running a hand over her hastily tied up hair, she scuffed her staff through the dirt. Glancing up, she found his smile warm, but concerned.

“Yes, well, I’m not sorry about making a pompous Orlesian piss himself, if that’s what you mean. Great way to start the day in fact.” She tried a weak smile, but gave up when his concern deepened. She gestured behind her. “I’m done, dummy is all yours.” Lifting her staff, she turned to leave, hoping that he would just leave it there. His hand lightly gripped her arm, and she paused. Turning back, he gently pulled her closer.

“I was wondering if you would spar with me.”Aarien blinked at him. She wasn’t expecting that. Cullen released her and rubbed his neck, holding up his staff.

“My staff skills are rusty, and you look like you need to hit on someone.” _My staff skills are_ – cue flashback of broad hands skimming up her thighs, his pounding chest pressing her back onto the desk – _rusty._ Coughing and hiding a smirk, she stepped away, rolling her shoulders to loosen them. Cullen looked at her questioningly. Adopting a stance, she raised her staff and raised an eyebrow. Grinning, he gripped his staff and changed position. A few people began to pause and watch, curious as to what their Inquisitor and Commander were up to.

They circled, and she watched him closely. The training leathers did nothing to disguise the muscled arms and broad chest, in fact they emphasised his frame. _Don’t get distracted._ His toned thighs tensed, poised to move. His size would be his weakness, speed was what she needed. Darting forward, she aimed a fast strike towards his leg, one that was deflected easily. Side-stepping, she sent another lightening quick jab at his side, which again he countered. _Not as slow as he looks._ Cullen then bore forward, raining down blows, which she blocked and slid to the side as she spun away. He jumped back, silly grin on his face, as they began circling again.

The crowd had grown, and a few were shouting either her or Cullen’s name. Aarien didn’t hear them, the blood coursed through her ears deafeningly, the only sound her own ragged breaths. She focused on the target before her, waiting for an opening.

Cullen whipped his staff forward, going for a side-attack. Stepping away, she brought her stave up and under his swing, planting a deft smack on his thigh. A cheer went up from the crowd as she leapt back. Retreating, Cullen’s grin was gone, a determined but amused look now on his face. Aarien was pretty sure she was looking quite smug. He lunged forward again, going for her other side this time, but she span away, concentrating on getting out reach. It was a feint though, and suddenly he had his staff around her, pulling her backwards so she was pinned tightly to his chest. Struggling against the hold, she felt his hot breath on her ear, his lips skimming the tip.  
“You can’t get away from me this time.” He chuckled huskily.

Any other time, she would have laughed and accepted the flirt for what it was. The current mood she was in though, it was a taunt, and it brought the whole day’s worth, the past few weeks worth even, of pent up anger bursting forth. Stamping on his foot and elbowing him in the chest, she ducked out of his grip and pushed him backwards. Cullen stumbled back, surprised, and dropped his staff. Aarien whirled, stick at the ready, eyes blazing.

“Don’t be so sure.” She growled, barely giving him time to pick up his staff again before she launched another barrage of attacks – strategy forgotten, ferocious angry woman taking control. Cullen blocked most but took blows to his arms and chest, worry now etched over his face. The rational person screaming inside knew it was for her maddened state, but the unleashed beast thought it was because she was winning. Snarling, she pounced forward again, no care given for any defence. In her rage, she began to call on the familiar tug of her magic, the air around thickening with a hum. His eyes going wide, Cullen crouched and swung his staff forward, sweeping her feet out from under her. The wind was smacked from her lungs as she landed hard on her back, staff clattering to the ground beside her.

Aarien lay there, chest heaving, realisation creeping forward. _Have I completely lost it?_ Why yes, it was looking like she had. Getting so angry at everything and everyone that it culminated in trying to beat up Cullen with a stick. _And magic? Idiot._ She watched as a low cloud lazily pushed its way across the sky, a few of Leliana’s ravens swooping past on their way to the rookery. Her pulse relaxed and she took a deep breath. _Calm down._ A faint noise tickled the edge of her hearing, slowly getting louder as the sound of pumping blood diminished. _Was that…laughter?_

Tilting her head up, she saw that a large crowd had formed to watch their sparring. Most of them were now bent over, laughing hysterically at the sight of their mighty Inquisitor being dumped on her ass. Others were chanting Cullen’s name. He was walking over to her, eyes filled with apology, brow creased with worry. The quiet moment of peace was destroyed, an embarrassed and irritated flush spreading over her face.

Cullen reached her and held out his hand, which she swatted away. Rolling onto her knees, she grasped her staff, using it as a support to stand. The knock he’d given her legs, though not overly hard, had weakened them and she trembled as she straightened.

“I’m sorry love, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He placed a caring hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off. His face flushed in frustration, and he planted himself in front of her. The crowd had begun to disperse, but he kept his voice quiet to avoid being heard.

“Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

The pleading in his tone made her heart break, but she couldn’t look him in the eye. Silently taking a step around him, she limped towards the keep and the sanctuary of her room. Cullen was having none of it this time however, and blocked her path again.

“Aarien, stop -” He reached for her, gently cupping her chin with his calloused fingers, lifting her gaze to meet his. “I’m here, I can help with whatever the problem is.”

 _I’m the problem._ She just wanted to be left alone, to not go through this to be hurt later. The best way was to push him away so he could find a woman who wasn’t a mess. _After the ball, she’ll leave, and no one will care._ Her fears were in a downward spiral, merging dangerously with her anger. She gulped, and her gaze turned scornful. Shaking her head to free her chin from his caress, she threw her staff on the floor.

“The only problem is you. Just because I meaningless sex with you once doesn’t give you the right to harass me.”

Cullen’s face went blank, his body stiff. The grip on his staff tightened, and she could see his jaw flex as his teeth clenched.

 _What have I done?_ Aarien gasped and shook her head, but it was too late. He bowed, and locked her with a cold expression.

“I understand now, if that’s how you feel. Good evening, Inquisitor.” He strode off towards his tower, not stopping and not looking back. Aarien felt a void open up inside her, and she sank to her knees. She couldn’t breath, and clutched a hand to chest. _What the fuck have I done?_ She’d set herself on a self-destructive path and couldn’t stop. The world was closing in incredibly fast, and she felt suffocated. A guard, noticing her fall, cautiously approached her.

“Inquisitor, are you well?” Aarien fled. Through the hall, ignoring the screaming pain of her tired legs, shouldering through the door to her chambers and taking the steps two at a time. Reaching the top, she ripped the training clothes off as she screamed, hot tears running down her face. _Stupid, stupid girl._ She’d been behaving like a child, having a tantrum because she was no longer the centre of attention. _He’ll never forgive me._ Pitching forward, she landed on her hands and knees, racking sobs shaking her body.

Quietly, as not to startle her, Cole sat on the floor and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Aarien clutched to him, crying freely as he slowly rocked her, stroking her hair.

“But you _are_ important. We all love you. Please don’t leave.”

Aarien hugged him tighter. Cole held her like that for hours, whispering comforts, until she cried herself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it was the introduction to Vivienne, but I always wanted to give that Marquis a piece of my mind...


	4. Regret

For the next week she was a ghost. The anger was gone, replaced by a numbness that left her cold and empty. Each day was filled with the same routine – get washed and dressed, eat, descend to the hall to greet the arriving nobles, then retreat to her chambers. The repetition was all that kept her going, kept her functioning. Cole never strayed far away, sitting with her as she ate, sleeping curled up against her back every night. He'd given up trying to talk to her, his reassurances not breaking through the crippling fog. Her doubts and fears were constant whispers, drowning out his attempts.

Aarien greeted everyone politely, nodded and smiled, but excused herself as soon as she could. Any attempts to rouse her to engage outside of her duties, or draw her out of her room, were met with a small smile and head shake. Her eyes betrayed her inner turmoil, always on the verge of tears, but never any shed. Her companions shared worried looks, afraid of what their friend was becoming - always waiting for her usual sarcastic retort, but nothing. Aarien never noticed, walking around in a muted daze.

Rumours had spread around the hold about how the Inquisitor had incinerated a Marquis, and then attacked the Commander in a demonic rage. Whispers about how she'd become possessed and taken Cole as her pet. Leliana and Josephine did all they could to reign them in, but with more dignitaries arriving every day, it was spreading like wild fire. They just had to hope the ball would ease them, and that they could get through to her in time.

It was the morning of the day before the ball, and Aarien was returning to her tower after greeting the latest arrivals. Dorian was waiting for her, lounging against the door, blocking her escape. Pausing only briefly, she walked up to him.

“Good morning Dorian. Let me pass please.”

He gave her a long look down his nose, then pushed open the door, Aarien slipping through. He accompanied her silently up the stairs, then stood with his arms crossed, watching her as she sat on the bed. Sighing, she gave a weak smile, eyes flicking up to meet his intense gaze briefly, only to glance away.

“Can I help with something?” Dorian snorted and shook his head. He took a few steps to stand in front of her,

“It's not me who needs help. Whatever is going on here -” He gestured to all of her “- needs to stop right now.”

“Everything's fine -”

“Don't you pull that nonsense with me. If you don't tell me, I'll get that strange boy here to translate what's going on in _there_.”

He jabbed a finger forward and poked her forehead, making her jump back. His moustache twitched as he smirked, and he recrossed his arms.

“There's no need, there's nothing wrong.” _If she said it enough, it might come true._ Aarien swallowed, her throat bone dry.

“Cole! Boy, where are you?”

“No, don't - “ On cue, Cole blinked into being, perched on the bed next to her.

“No one needs one to know, push them away, everything will be fine.” Aarien glared at Cole, who smiled apologetically. Dorian raised an eyebrow.

“You're pushing everyone away, yes we know that. What don't you want to any one to know?”

He at least had the consideration to address her directly, not Cole. All she could do was glance between them, words sticking in her throat. _What's happening?_

“Obsolete, no mark, no use, borrowed time. Push them away, easier to leave.”

“Cole!” She croaked, finding her voice, gaping at him. _Wasn't he not supposed to do this?_ Cringing, she looked to up at Dorian's frown.

“So you think, now you've done the business with your hand, you're no longer needed? That you're going to leave? Preposterous! And here I thought you were intelligent.”

The words stung, so much so she felt the sharp pang of anger pinch her chest, pushing through the hollow space she'd been cultivating. Heat rose to her cheeks, and she fidgeted under his scrutiny.

“Well? Isn't it true? What use am I? I've done what I was brought here to do. Corypheus is dead, the rift closed. How long before they kick me out, no one cares -”

_Smack._

Aarien gasped, snapping a hand to the cheek where he'd slapped her. Not hard, but hard enough to shock. Dorian's eyes blazed as he leaned in, locking her gaze with his.

“You are the _Inquisitor_. You are a _mage_. Stop having a tantrum because things change. You have never, _never_ behaved this way. Not even with the sky falling down and the world ending.”

She stared, wide-eyed. Dorian knelt before her, expression softening, gently taking her head in his hands.

“You do not get to choose who cares about you.” he said softly. Unbidden tears slid down her cheeks to be wiped away by soft thumbs. “And hurting them to push them away, is madness.”

“I...”

“You're no longer that pathetic Circle mage, naïve and petty. Think, _think_ woman, of everything you've achieved, the people that love you, and stop acting like a child.”

The dawn of realisation hit, the fog clearing as she recalled her behaviour, her self inflicted pain. The people she snubbed, their worried looks, _Cullen_. Blubbing, she flung her arms around Dorian, yanking him into a tight embrace. He rested his head on her shoulder, hugging her back as fiercely.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Maker...Cullen...” Aarien whispered, tears flowing freely as she clasped Dorian to her. He coughed, squirming under her grip. With a wet chuckle she released him, letting him stand and take a step back. Brushing himself off, Dorian harrumphed in annoyance, but she could see a slight glisten in his eye.

“I think you know what an ass you've been. Cullen will understand too.” Aarien grabbed Cole and hugged him too for good measure, burying her face in his shoulder.

“Mmrrmmph mpph.”

“You'll have to repeat that.” Aarien freed the boy, who was grinning.

“But the things I said...” Dorian waved his hand dismissively.

“I'm sure he's heard worse, and probably will again. Most definitely from you. Because you're an idiot.”

“But...”

“Go, go on, profess your love from the battlements and make him blush in that adorable manner.”

Aarien smiled, and for the first time felt lighter, the weight of the past few weeks lifting. She had been wallowing, and felt ridiculous that one talk, one confession, had started to mend the wound that had been festering. _I've been so stupid_. She jumped off the bed, hurrying over to the closet to pull out a leather coat and swing it around her shoulders. Running out of the room, she paused to plant a kiss on Dorian's cheek, flying down the steps and out of the door.

Cole watched after her, crossing his legs on the bed.

“So I just had to...hit her?” Dorian chuckled and shook his head.

“It takes a special sort of slap to knock the sense back into someone. Especially the really stupid ones.”

Cole nodded in agreement.

* * *

Aarien rushed out into the hall, nearly knocking over a servant teetering on a ladder, precariously hanging decorations. Pausing to apologise, she continued on, striding quickly towards to exit. The hall was being transformed – the tables and chairs removed, hanging drapes of white and black silk adorning the walls, the Inquisition crest emblazoned in the centres. Benches adorned with lavish cushions skirted the room, and large chandeliers twinkled above her. She couldn't help but stop, mouth open as she looked around the room.

“Not bad, eh? Still, they could tell me where they put my table.” Glancing down, she found Varric admiring the room alongside her. Grinning, grabbed him into a tight hug, his arms flailing in surprise. Thankfully they wrapped around her in reciprocation, a hand rubbing reassuring circles on her back. With a final squeeze she let him go.

“Feeling better then. It's about time.” He winked as she flushed with embarrassment.

“Yes, sorry about that. Got lost for a bit there.” Varric patted her arm, and they resumed watching the transformation of the hall. Aarien spotted Josephine coordinating servants by the throne, catching her eye with a wave. Josie frowned, eyes narrowing as waved back tentatively. Aarien winced.

“I've been that bad haven't I.” Varric chuckled, tactfully saying nothing.

“Have you seen Cullen?”

“I imagine he's holed up in his tower. You two seem to have a fondness for towers.” She laughed at that, and turned to leave the hall, feeling her stomach flutter a little. _Maker, what will I say?_

“Just be yourself, your old self that is, and everything will be fine.” Varric called after her. She grinned at him, then jogged out the door, nodding to the guard holding it open.

Streaking down the steps, she clutched her coat at the collar, a strong breeze whipping it around her legs. The flags on the wall snapped in the wind, and strands of hair snaked across her face, tugged free from the loose bun. Deciding to head for the side door to his tower, she marched across the courtyard and up onto the ramparts, the air current buffeting her as she crested the last step.

Walking slowly up to the door, she paused, trying to slow the heart hammering in her chest. Her hair lashed across her face, now completely free, as she took a deep breath and lightly knocked on the wood. Aarien felt herself start to tremble, and the doubt started to creep back in. After waiting for a few moments with no answer, she knocked harder. Trying to listen for footsteps was fruitless, the wind howling over the battlements drowned out all other sound.

 _I should just go_. Shivering, she turned to leave when the clank of the handle sounded, followed by the creak of the door. Cullen's face appeared, his eyes wide for the briefest second before settling into a blank expression.

“Inquisitor.” She had to shout over the sound of the wind, nervously grasping her collar.

“I'd like to talk to you.” Pausing, he nodded and stepped back to let her in. Closing the door behind them, he perched, waiting, on the edge of his desk, Aarien standing before him. _How do I do this?_ She could only imagine how she looked – hair tangled and cheeks flushed from the wind, eyes red and puffy from crying. Cullen watched in silence, body stiff, his face unreadable.

“I...wanted...couldn't...” _Words, use words you idiot_. Aarien took a deep breath and hugged her arms to her.

“I am...a fool. I did not mean what I said. At all.” Still no reaction. She cast her gaze to the floor.

“I've been pushing everyone away, because...because I thought now that...”

Aarien unfurled her hand, looking at the scar on her palm, now dull and lifeless. She glancing up at the sound of creaking leather, watching as Cullen reached up to rub his neck, his own gaze now focussed on the floor. Sticking her hand in her pocket, she soldiered on.

“Anyway, it's no excuse and...I'm sorry.” It was said barely above a whisper, in hopeful desperation. She raised her eyes, searching his face for anything, anything at all. Cullen met her look, his own now unsure. He shifted uncomfortably.

“Thank you Inquisitor. Is there anything else?”

Her stomach dropped. _What did you expect?_ Well, she had hoped to be swept up in his arms, everything forgiven, but she didn't deserve it. Shaking her head, she mumbled a goodbye and headed for the door. Hesitating, her hand hovering over the handle, she remembered Dorian's words. _Profess your love_.

“I just wanted to say..I never stopped loving you.” With that she opened the door and stepped outside into the gale, clicking it shut behind her.

Battling down fresh tears, she walked over to lean on the crenellation. Peering over, she watched as a procession of carriages and riders made their way into Skyhold. The wind had eased, but it still toyed with her hair. Crossing her arms on the stone, she leant her forehead down, closing her eyes.

Why did she think that he would forgive her, after what she said, Maker, after how she had _behaved._ The only thing pitiful about their encounter was that it didn't happen again many, many times after. She'd said her piece, albeit very poorly - that was all she could do, and she wasn't going to let herself be swallowed by doubt again. If Cullen wanted to be with her, he would make it happen, she couldn't force him. Otherwise... _Let's not think about it now_.

Taking deep breaths, she felt a hand stroke her back. _Cole_. She smiled, loving that boy and the way he had stuck with her, despite her transformation into the spirit of stupidity.

“Don't worry Cole, everything's fine. And I mean it this time.”

Straightening when the hand remained, she turned, heart stopping in surprise as lips were crushed to hers. Letting out a muffled yelp, she relaxed when she felt the familiar rasp of stubble, the broad hands holding her back, fingers curling into the hair at her nape. Her knees started to buckle and she latched onto him, hands grasping the fur of his coat.

“You have to stop running away from me” Cullen said huskily when he broke the kiss, Aarien gasping to regain some breath. He curled his arm around her waist and pulled her closer, enveloping her in his warmth. She stared, wide-eyed in awe until he chuckled. Brushing hair back from her face, he smiled, those golden eyes filled with understanding. Aarien felt a lump in her throat and swallowed hard.

“Yes, you are a fool. But then so am I. I should have realised what was troubling you.” He brushed a kiss across her nose as she shook her head.

“I just shut myself away, you couldn't know -”

He interrupted her with another kiss, careful and soft this time, caressing her lips with his own. It was timeless, every stroke of his tongue, each brush a rekindled memory. His taste and touch stoking the familiar blaze at her core, warmth seeping to the tips of her toes. She tangled her hands in his hair, her eyes fluttering closed as she sank into him, cursing herself and her stupidity.

Cullen's hand slipped along her spine to her behind, gripping hard as he pressed closer. Their kiss grew more frantic, a small moan escaping as she succumbed. Cullen's hands roamed freely now, cupping her ass as he turned them towards his tower. Forcing herself to break from that glorious mouth, she laughed, panting to regain some composure. Opening her eyes, her heart skipped at his expression, one of heady desire, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Slowly, he began to walk her backwards towards the door.

“I haven't forgiven you, just so you know.” His voice was deep and hoarse, a lop-sided smirk curling his lip as he looked at her, still gently pressing her back. The wind had tousled his hair, and loose curls danced on his forehead. Aarien started when her back hit the wall, Cullen pressing in close, his body flush against hers. She tilted her chin as he feathered kisses across her jaw, and down along her neck.

“You should think how you can make it up to me” he whispered, lips skimming her ear. All she could do was nod, whimpering as his hand slid inside her coat, cupping her breast with a gentle squeeze, his tongue running hot along her neck. They were beyond caring who could see, months of distance and stalling fuelling their desire. Yet she took hold of his hand, and, regretfully, pushed him back. Immediately he released his hold, relieving her of the pressure of his body. He stayed close, intertwining his gloved fingers with hers. Gulping, and trying to reason against shoving him into the tower and having her way with him, Aarien coughed and smiled.

“As much as where this heading is very, very, good -” She had to pause as he brought her hand up to run a kiss over her knuckles, his gaze one of – _Oooh fuck,_ _deep breath_.

“I think we should wait.”

Cullen swallowed hard, seeming to have the same thought of just throwing her over his shoulder and running off to have his way with her. But he smiled, and nodded, pulling her away from the wall into a hug. She snaked her arms around his waist, barely reaching around the armour, and buried her face into his mane. Her heart, so empty and broken before, felt full to bursting, and she reprimanded herself again for not coming to him sooner.

Resting his chin on her head, he clutched her tightly, stroking her hair as they stood clasped together.

“I'll see you at the ball tomorrow?” Aarien nodded into his chest.

He released her, pulling back slightly to cup her chin in his hands. His eyes wandered over her face, smiling at the red and puffy lips that were entirely his fault. Stroking her cheek, his face softened into an expression filled with complete adoration.

“I never stopped loving you either, and I never will.”

 

(Artwork of Aarien & Cullen by the fantastic [Sam Low/Naz on Etsy](https://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/CustomCreationsByNaz))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good ol' Dorian & Cole. And Cullen ;)
> 
> Now she's done being a doofus, on with the ball!


	5. Preparation

Slowly cracking open an eye, she instantly regretted it. The brightness hurt, her head throbbed, and only she was to blame.

After taking a _fair_ amount of time to leave Cullen alone (his kisses, and hands, were very distracting), Aarien, feeling happy for the first time in what felt like months, decided to join her friends in the tavern for the evening. However this morning, with pain stabbing through her temples, happiness was the last thing she felt now.

Managing to lever herself out of bed, she blindly groped for the wash stand, cursing when she stubbed a toe. Hopping to the bowl, Aarien splashed water in the vague direction of her face.

 _Fuck that’s cold_.

If not for Sera’s insistence to have one last drink – one that turned into three – she wouldn’t be in this predicament. On the day of the ball no less. At the thought of more drinking her stomach roiled, prompting her to stagger her way back into bed. With a grumble, she yanked the covers over her head to be encompassed in blissful darkness. 

Aarien groaned when the muffled tinkle of the door bell sounded. _Noooo_. Surely, everything was ready and all the guests settled, no need for her to leave the haven of her blankets. It continued to ring incessantly, before the door slammed open. Stomping followed up the towers steps, and she moulded the covers to peep out at the intruder.

Josephine, looking flustered, stood hands on hips, foot tapping.

“Inquisitor.” Aarien stuck a hand out between the layers to wave.

“You were expected downstairs three hours ago.” Bracing herself, Aarien threw the covers back, shivering at the rush of cold air. Begrudgingly, she forced her eyes open, gaining the full impression of the irritated woman before her.

“I’m sorry Josie, what time is it?” Carefully she sat up, swinging her legs off the bed. Squinting at the window, the sun was high in the sky, casting long shadows around the room.

“It would be midday.” Aarien gaped, a hand running up into her tangled hair. She glanced from the window to Josie a few times before cursing again. Quickly, she stood and stumbled to her closet, fumbling for the usual tunic and breeches.

“I’m so sorry, I…I had no idea!” Clothes bundled in her arms, she grabbed a comb and started brushing furiously. Josephine chuckled, and shook her head.

“I wouldn’t bother, Vivienne’s on her way over to help you get ready.” Aarien paused, one hand with the brush, the other trying to pull on her tunic. In her fluster she’d completely forgotten about the ball.

“Help me…get ready?”

Sounds of a commotion floated up the stairs, and soon her room was filled with the bustle of servants. The chamber was instantly filled with boxes, vials of strange looking concoctions and a large copper bath tub. Aarien stared in silence, still in her underwear with a tunic hanging off her arm, as people buzzed around her. Vivienne appeared at the entrance to the room, giving directions as she glided towards them.

“My dear, you choose the worst days to wake late.”Aarien floundered as someone took her tunic, and then her brush. Gently she was herded towards the tub, that was already full of steaming water.

“What…I…who?” Somehow she was then in the tub, naked, hair being washed and skin being scrubbed.

“What’s happening?!” Vivienne and Josephine laughed, rummaging through boxes and passing bottles to her attendees, to have them dumped unceremoniously on her head. Her protests were cut off as a divine smell began to emanate from the tub, and fingers started massaging her scalp.

“As if you could be trusted to prepare yourself darling, we’re here to make sure everything goes smoothly.”

Someone was now feeding her breakfast, pushing apple to her lips. Or would that be lunch? _Is this normal?_ Aarien looked around in a daze, the woman pumicing her feet smiling back. She was quite sure she was awake, yet…she chewed as she pondered. If it was a dream… _less Vivienne, more naked men_. She grinned as another piece of fruit was popped into her mouth.

“Stop grinning like an idiot dear, there’s much to do. You haven’t left us much time.”

“Isn’t the ball this evening?”

“Exactly.” _  
_

_Is this what the Empress does everyday_? As the haze of sleepiness lifted, she found it quite enjoyable. Gentle hands working the knots in her neck, someone feeding her, another washing her feet. Closing her eyes, she sighed contently, sinking back into the tub. The pain in her head was ebbing away, and she felt almost human.

“No time for that Inquisitor, up and out!”

Aarien peeped under eyelashes to glare at Josephine. A servant stood ready, holding out a robe. Grumbling, Aarien stood quickly, water cascading from the tub, and stepped into the gown. She didn’t have a problem being bare in front of others, but when there’s multiple eyes deliberately watching you, it was disconcerting. The tub was whisked away, and she was guided to plop into a chair.

What followed felt like a military operation, with the objective apparently her. Finger and toe nails were painted; her hair dried and the pulled every which way as it was plaited and pinned; face painted with brushes that tickled. Exposed briefly to have oil rubbed into her skin, a rather intimate and strange experience. By the end, she was scared to look in the mirror.

Back in her robe, she was pulled to the centre of the room. Candles were being lit as the sun sank below the hold walls, and Aarien could hear the muffled sounds of laughter and music coming from the hall below. Her stomach fluttered, the realisation of what was coming hitting home. Josephine laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“It will be fun, I promise.” Aarien smiled nervously.

“I’m excited, it’s just…I’m worried I’ll say the wrong thing, or offend someone.” Josephine chuckled, a warm smile spreading across her face.

“You’ll be fine. Even if you do, we’ll be ready to go to war again.” She winked cheekily. Snorting, Aarien shook her head.

“Don’t joke.”

Sweeping forward, Vivienne cast her over with an appreciative look. She herself had changed into a blood red gown, cut dangerously low and hugging her curvaceous figure. Gold jewellery dripped from her neck and ears, matching the metal of her gilded, intricate mask. Aarien gawked. _Maker, she’s beautiful_. Vivienne snapped her fingers, and the robe was slipped from her figure, leaving her shivering in the cold room, in her small clothes. Her eyes narrowed for a second, before she whipped of Aarien’s breast band and loin cloth.

“Oi, what? I’m going down there naked?!” Vivienne’s head tilted, the look one of mild vexation.

“Spoils the line of the dress dear. Unless it’s your monthly bleeding?”

Aarien shook her head, attention drawn to the dress being brought forward, the familiar glint making her smile. It was the thin, shimmering gold fabric Vivienne had discarded before, layered over with an intricate gold lace. Sewn gems winked in the candle flicker, and the complete effect was like captured starlight. She looked up at the woman, grinning broadly.

“Thank you.” Vivienne waved dismissively, but a small smile curved the corner of her mouth.

“It wasn’t totally hideous dear, much improved now.”

Aarien stepped into the dress, shivering as the smooth fabric slid up along her legs and around her. The skirt was full, but not too large, and she couldn’t help but swish it a little. The bodice was buttoned up at the back, hugging her tightly but not uncomfortable. Slipping her arms into lace sleeving, they sat just off her shoulders, leaving neck and collarbone exposed. She noticed the cut was very low, and raised an eyebrow at Josephine.

“There’s more, don’t worry.” She laughed and beckoned a woman forward, who was holding a black leather corset. They wrapped it around her ribs, cinching so hard that she gasped. _So much for comfort_. It sat over her bust, covering the borderline indecent cut of the dress. Looking down, she traced the gold embroidery that decorated the panels – swirling motifs bordering the Inquisition emblem. Tied in, she slipped her feet into black slippers, and twirled for her admirers. Josephine looked fit to burst, and even Vivienne was smiling openly.

“I’ll do then?”

The women silently moved behind her, and pushed her towards the mirror. Aarien gasped, eyes wide in awe. Long, dark lashes framed incredulous blue eyes; chestnut hair was somehow anchored in intricate plaited weaves; her dress hugged her form like a second skin, exaggerating her waist and… _Maker_. Her breasts looked fantastic. Pushed up by the corset, they rose and fell quickly, skin gleaming in the candle light.

Gaping at herself, she barely recognised the woman staring back. Gone was the tired, weary person she despaired over a week before, and here was a vision that she couldn’t quite believe. _I’m dreaming, I must be_. Running a hand over the intricate lace of a sleeve, she turned to the two women, beaming.

“I…thank you. Anyone that can turn me into this…just…thank you.” Picking up her skirt, she curtseyed to them, loving the way the fabric sighed with the dip.

“Yes dear, well…it took a lot of work, but the potential was there.”

 _Was…that a compliment? From Vivienne?_ Smiling, the music from the hall caught her attention and the butterflies returned to her stomach. Now she had to play the part, but at least she was dressed for the occasion. She was more than a little eager to see the reaction to her transformation too…her friends of course, no one in particular…

Vivienne nodded, then slunk off down the stairs to the ball, mission accomplished. Aarien had no doubt she would be seeking repayment of her help later, maybe a private audience with the Inquisitor for some of her ‘friends’. Aarien couldn’t complain though – she owed her for this. Josephine gently took her by the arm and started to lead her towards the stairs. For the first time this evening, Aarien noticed that her friend had not changed from her usual gold and black ensemble. Stopping dead, she frowned at her, not impressed.

“Josie, if I’m going out like this, you need to have a pretty dress too.” Aarien crossed her arms, and mimicked her advisor’s usual foot tap. Josephine laughed and shook her head.

“This evening I am first and foremost your ambassador, Inquisitor.” Her smile gained a cheeky edge and she seemed to bubble with excitement. “I will…perhaps…get changed later in the evening, once all the introductions are done.”

Aarien grinned, inclining her head in acceptance. She had not given this woman an easy time over the past few weeks.

“Josie…I just want to say I’m sorry for everything, and…I’m glad we’re having the ball.” She stepped forward and pulled Josie into a hug, feeling her arms wrap around in reply and squeeze back.

“No need for that, Aarien. You look beautiful. The nobles of Thedas won’t know what hit them.” Aarien giggled, and silently prayed that nothing went wrong. As it always tended to. Especially with insufferable gentry.

“Hopefully not my fist.” 

* * *

Time slowed to a stand still as Aarien stood behind the door, waiting for her announcement. That a bit of wood stood between her and hundreds of people wasn’t calming her nerves.

Pacing back and forth, she gulped in deep breaths, hands pressed to her stomach to steady the trembling. Latching on to the thought of the man out there, waiting to see her, she closed her eyes and pictured his face, smiling warmly.

The music ceased, and the murmur of chat and laughter died down. A staff was banged on the floor near the door, making her jump. _Shit._ Sucking in air too harshly, constricted in the corset, she felt light-headed as a voice carried clearly through the door.

“Introducing Inquisitor Aarien Trevelyan, slayer of Corypheus and vanquisher of rifts; queller of rebellions and healer of lands; Herald of Andraste and advisor to Divine Victoria”

 _Maker, Josephine, lay it on thick why don’t you_. Her stomach hit the floor as the door opened, the bright light blinding her. Raising her chin, and clasping her hands together, she slowly stepped forward into the hall, and up onto the throne dais.

A sea of people greeted her, all focussed in her direction, enraptured. Feeling her throat go dry, Aarien managed to swallow and smile. Josephine had told her to say a few words, then she could escape from the podium.

“I welcome you all to Skyhold, and wish you a wonderful evening.” Her voice rang out strong and confident – definitely not reflecting the waves of panic flowing through her. She was certain they could all see her shaking, judging in silence. Scanning the crowd, she failed to find the gaze she was looking for. _Where is he?_

Like the rush of a waterfall, the room broke into rapturous applause. Shouts of 'Hail the Herald’ and 'Hail the Inquisitor’ were thrown out, many joining in. She thought she heard a voice familiarly like Bull’s, shouting 'You’re the Boss’, but couldn’t be sure. A fierce blush blossomed on her cheeks, and she stood there, grinning stupidly.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Josephine beckoning, so she curtseyed, skirts flaring softly around her, and forced numb legs to walk. The applause faded, replaced by frenzied chatter, the appearance of the legendary Herald sending the crowd buzzing. Aarien glanced nervously at the gaggles of nobles pointing and whispering as she approached Josephine. Resisting the urge to run back through the door to her chamber, she took a deep breath and swept to stand beside her ambassador. A que was already forming at the base of the steps, the glittering aristocracy all too eager. Aarien lent slightly to whisper in Josie’s ear.

“Is there going to be enough time to meet everyone? We could be here for days.” Josephine smiled, and gently took her by the elbow.

“That’s why I’m here Inquisitor – to keep the introductions short and sweet, then move on.”

They descended the stairs, Aarien delicately picking up her skirts. Despite the fear of falling down and landing in a golden mess before her guests, she couldn’t help but admire the way her dress flowed down the steps behind them. Standing a little straighter, chin up, she battled against the churning in her stomach. It wasn’t everyday that she looked like this – Maker, getting her out of leathers was a feat in itself. She was going to enjoy it - enjoy wearing a beautiful dress, and maybe for once enjoy _feeling_ beautiful.

The first in the long, _long_ que was shifting nervously, hands clasped, not meeting her eye. A middle-aged man, grey peppering his hair and beard, he looked of Antivan descent. Adopting her best dazzling smile, she curtseyed and offered her hand. The Antivan held it tentatively, brushing a quick kiss before releasing.

“May I introduce Ciro Faletta, merchant prince of Antiva.”

“May I introduce Marquess Lorraine De Blanc”

“May I introduce Arl Frederick Oswin”

The names and faces flashed before her, each greeted with the dance of etiquette expected of the Inquisitor. Any attempts of theirs to engage further were politely interrupted by Josephine with promises of a longer talk later. Aarien quietly hoped that this was merely placation – being hunted down by the entirety of the ball looking for a chat didn’t really appeal. The number of people clamouring for her attention gradually reduced, many getting bored and wandering off to enjoy the ball. Couples twirled about the centre of the hall, a blur of colour and fabric, lively music setting a merry tempo.

Taking a brief moment in between introductions, Aarien looked behind her to fully appreciate the hall. The grand chandeliers hung from the ceiling cast the hall in a magical glow. Small, conjured lights like fireflies danced in the dark corners of the room, small sprites bobbing along to the melody. It felt like a dream, the convergence of colour and music dizzyingly bursting forth. Sighing, Aarien smiled as she watched the grinning faces of dancers clutching each other, their laughter as they began to spin. She saw Iron Bull across the room, surrounded by tittering ladies, fanning their blushes as he acted out a particularly energetic story. Dorian was leant against the wall, watching intently, a small smile curling his mouth. Catching his eye, she waved, to which he winked in return, before engrossing himself again in Bull’s performance. Chuckling, she turned back to resume the greetings.

Deep amber eyes locked her own wide-eyed blues. Aarien felt her chest tighten as her breath hitched, a lump forming in her throat. Lines creased the corners of his smiling mouth, as he slid his hand into hers, bringing it up to softly brush his lips across her knuckles. Shivers danced up her spine, and Aarien became acutely aware that she wasn’t wearing any small clothes. How could one look, one touch, do that?

“Inquisitor.”

Cullen bowed over her hand, breaking the trance of his gaze. Remembering where she was, Aarien curtseyed, wobbling slightly as her heart hammered. Drinking in the sight of him, her eyes ran over a black, tailored dress coat – it looked like satin, sitting taut along his broad shoulders and muscled chest. Edged and decorated in gold detail, it lay over black leather breeches that descended into black boots. A crimson sash, vivid in contrast, hung about his hips. He looked regal – his hair was tamed and swept back, the only hint of rebellion his familiar dusting of stubble. Cullen shifted, a hand reaching up to rub his neck as she realised she was staring. Blushing, she coughed, her fingers tingling at his touch. He grinned, stepping closer. Josephine had vanished.

“C-commander.”

Taking her other hand, he edged closer again, the calloused pads of his fingers caressing her palms. Her breath was coming short and quick, and she wasn’t sure she could blame it all on the corset.

“You look…absolutely stunning.”

Standing so close that she could smell his soapy scent, mixed with the musky aroma of leather, he spoke quietly so only she could hear. Aarien itched for his hands to reach out and touch her arms, her waist, her neck…Maker, she’d take anything. Many eyes were watching in interest, but her capacity to care was lessening. A slight ache at her core made her involuntarily squeeze her thighs, the movement sending a tingling jolt coursing through her body. It only added to the torture of having him so tantalisingly close yet unable to act, but she couldn’t help it. All she could do is stare at his lips, and imagine them planting kisses all over her skin.

Cullen’s mind was drifting to the same place, his eyes darkening as he swept them over her, lingering on the slight heave of her bosom. The grip on her hands tightened, the look in his eye making her gasp slightly, before he cleared his throat, released her and stepped back. Aarien followed his retreat, leaning towards him, the urge for his touch rising uncontrollably. The look in _her_ eye must have been something, as he took another step back. Clearing his throat, he smiled, his cheeks reddening slightly.

“Forgive me, I was…distracted. Did you have a good evening in the tavern, Inquisitor?” Aarien snapped out of her daydream, straightening and swallowing hard. Though they had regained composure, his question brought their reunion on the battlements flooding back. A fierce blush spread across her face as she floundered for words.

“Yes…ah…it was good…thank you.” He chuckled, a throaty sound that produced fresh shivers, prickling her skin.

“You can’t remember the evening though?…” Aarien frowned, trying to think back to the events of the day before.

“I remember Sera getting me to drink more…then I remember being in bed.”

“So you don’t remember serenading me outside my tower, then passing out?”

She gaped at him, hand raising to her mouth in horror.

“I didn’t?” Cullen laughed, crossing his arms, the material of his jacket tight across his biceps.

“Yes, you did indeed. I had to carry you back to your room.” Shaking her head, hand still covering her mouth, Aarien groaned with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry…I don’t remember. Sweet Andraste…I actually did that?” Smirking, he took a few steps forward again, leaning in conspiratorially.

“And you were propositioning me the whole way.”

His face was so close, she could feel his warm breath on her cheek, smelling faintly of spiced wine. Her own throat had gone incredibly dry. It took all her willpower not to lean forward and press her lips to his, succumbing to the heat coiling tight within. Aarien smiled softly as her eyes fluttered over his face.

“Not tempted then?” Shaking his head, he reached up to tuck a stray hair behind her ear, the light touch sending sparks straight to the building pressure between her legs.

“I’m insulted my lady - I would not take advantage of you in such a state.” Quickly, he darted in to brush his lips across her cheek, placing his hand to lightly rest on her waist. Aarien heard the collective gasp of nobles around them.

“Besides,” he whispered, stubble tickling her cheek as he spoke, barely able to hear him over the din of the room. “I want you to _remember_ what I do to you.”

Aarien had to bite her lip to suppress a small moan, sucking in a deep breath as he stepped back, out of reach. His face was red as he glanced at the people whispering around them, but his eyes held a mischievous twinkle. _Tease_. She glared at him she tried to calm herself, but couldn’t suppress her smile. Cullen bowed again, and Josephine appeared at her elbow, materialising out of the mass of bodies around them.

“I’ll leave you to the rest of your admirers, Inquisitor. Have a good evening.”

Giving her one last warm smile, he turned and disappeared into the throng. _But there’s only one I want_. Aarien watched him go, the heat throbbing through her with a dull ache. Shaking her head to clear the haze, she glanced at Josephine, who was looking at her amusedly.

“Are you ready to continue, Inquisitor?” Aarien nodded, and tried her best to push thoughts of Cullen to the back of her mind. Those were for later, where she was fully intending on acting on them. Turning to the next guest to step forward, she adopted the required polite smile.

Bowing before her was a man, late 30’s perhaps, handsome, and dressed smartly in a pure white, gold trimmed tunic. His long dark hair was swept back, piercing blue eyes meeting hers without hesitation. He kissed her hand, lingering perhaps slightly longer then necessary, before straightening and smiling.

“Inquisitor, a pleasure to finally meet you.”

The accent had the familiar lilts of a Marcher, but she couldn’t quite remember the region it hailed from. Aarien smiled in return, waiting for Josephine to introduce him. After a long pause, she stole a glance at the ambassador. She was deep in frown, almost a scowl, as she regarded the man in front of them.

“Josephine?”

The sound of her name snapped the Antivan back to the realms of protocol, but her glare never left the man’s face. He himself stood patiently, smiling courteously.

“Sorry, Inquisitor. May I introduce…Prince Sebastian Vael, of Starkhaven.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait with this one! Real life getting in the way ;)
> 
> Shout out to Fatally-Procrastinating for giving me some great feedback - if you haven't found her writing yet, go now! Go find it! It's fantastic :)


	6. Tease

Aarien’s eyes narrowed as she studied the man in front of her. The man who had requested aid in invading Kirkwall, only for them to assist Guard Captain Aveline in resisting his assault. She was surprised that he would even be here, let alone invited. The Inquisitor was probably his least favourite person, and yet here he was, face unreadable, smiling.

“Your Highness, welcome to Skyhold. Thank you for attending.”

Curtseying low, she swept her skirts out with a satisfying rustle as she bent, stealing a glance at Josephine. She had regained composure, but her expression was frosty. If she was Vivienne, the Prince would be an icicle, most definitely. Focussing her attention back on Sebastian, she couldn’t help but test the limits of his good will. It completely went against societal etiquette, but she was curious.

“I am surprised to see you here, Prince Vael, after our…disagreement over Kirkwall.” 

A flash of something alighted in his eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Was it anger? His smile stayed fixed however, not wavering in the slightest.

“Alas my Lady, I realised the…folly of my actions. My quarrel is not with Kirkwall.”

Despite the apologetic tone, Aarien couldn’t shake the feeling that it sounded like a threat. Josephine  stood in silence, her brow furrowed. _On my own then, I guess._ Nodding her head in acceptance, she smiled, the heat from her exchange with Cullen replaced with confusing unease.

“I am glad the dispute was resolved. If Starkhaven has any issues in the future, please don’t hesitate to ask the Inquisition for aid.”

Sebastian’s expression changed to one of amusement, his steely blue eyes never leaving her face.

“You are too…gracious, my lady.”

He stiffly bent into a bow, inclined his head in farewell, and paced off into the crowd. Watching until he was well out of earshot, Aarien turned on her advisor, fixing her with her best ‘what-the-fuck-was-that’ look. Josephine grabbed her by the arm and wrenched her back to the wall, Aarien stumbling a little in surprise. Partially hidden by a large lion statue, Josephine glanced around again before leaning in to whisper.

“He wasn’t invited” she hissed, mouth set in a grim line. “Of course he wasn’t invited, he attacked Kirkwall, and he basically threatened to march on Skyhold -”

“We’re not going to top his 'parties-to-attend’ list.” She shook her head adamantly, still peering around for eaves droppers.

“I don’t understand why he’s here, or how he even got in.”

Aarien raised a hand to rub her face, stopping at the last second as she remembered the masterpiece painstakingly applied to it. Instead she rubbed her arm, lost in thought.

“Maybe…maybe he’s trying to make amends? Or…planning to assassinate me?”  Aarien smirked, but Josephine didn’t look amused.

“He is renowned for being pious, conservative, but he has a sordid past. Before nearly pledging his life to the chantry, he was a renegade – wild parties, women, liquor.”

“Isn’t that every young noble?”

“Yes, but I was always suspicious of his sudden…reformation. His actions after the events in Kirkwall are more symptomatic of his old self.” She grasped Aarien’s arm, eyes widening. “You need to speak to Hawke.”

“Hawke, she’s here?”

This ball was the last place she thought the Champion would be, especially with half the guests still out for her blood regarding the mage rebellion. Yet she was excited to see her again – that woman always made her laugh. At the most inappropriate times.

“Sebastian was with her during her…time in Kirkwall. She would be a good person to talk to about why he might be here.”

Aarien frowned, crossing her arms.

“Why are you so concerned about a self-righteous Prince? No doubt he’s here because he felt snubbed.”

Josephine took a deep breath, and closed her eyes. It was worrying to see Josie so worked up over something that was not worth the effort. Sebastian was just here to be obnoxious, probably whispering to his peers about how the Inquisition bullied him into submission. It may be true, but with good reason. The instability it would have caused in the Free Marches was not something they needed with an ancient evil magister snapping at their heels. She could deal with another indignant noble, no need to fret. Yet the feeling of discomfort he elicited wasn’t passing.

“I’ll find Hawke and talk to her. You don’t need to stress about it any more. Why don’t you go and get changed?”

Glancing behind them, there was no longer a que waiting for her attention, everyone was engrossed with each other, dancing or drinking. Sweeping behind her advisor, she pushed her out of their hiding place, into the room.

“I’ll take care of it, you enjoy yourself.”

Josephine opened her mouth in protest, but Aarien gave her a gentle shove in the direction of her chamber. Smiling sweetly in response to the glare, she delicately picked up her skirts and glided away, removing any opportunity for her to protest.

 _Where would Hawke be?_ Moving quickly, she nodded at the people trying to catch her eye, not giving them the chance to stop her. Aarien managed to manoeuvre herself down the length of the hall with no interruptions, scanning the crowd for a familiar face.

Stopping mid-stride, she bit her lip to contain a grin as she recognised the man in black, his back to her, merely paces away. Feeling her pulse start to quicken, she hesitated in her approach, musing over what he had whispered to her. _I want you to remember what I do to you_. He had left her hot, thrumming, _weak_ – she craved payback. He had started the game - his first move was bold, leaving her at his mercy. Now it was her turn. Aarien smiled slyly as she stalked slowly up behind him. _You have met your match on this board, Commander._  
Smiling politely at the gentleman Cullen was conversing with, she placed a hand lightly on the small of his back, the other caressing his arm, signalling to stay where he was. Slowly, as he recognised her, Aarien raised her mouth to his ear, breath tickling the back of his neck. She felt his body stiffen, head tilting towards her. Whispering, she gripped his arm tightly as she stood on tiptoe, pressed against him.

“I am wearing _absolutely nothing_ under this dress.” 

The sentence was released in a single breath, her lips brushing the back of his ear. Aarien tried her best not to giggle as his eyes went wide. As she stepped back, removing her hands from his body, Cullen turned to speak, but he spluttering, coughing as she danced away from his reach. The amused confusion of his conversation partner, and Cullen’s reaction to her revelation made her laugh unabashedly. He took a deep breath and started to walk towards her, gaze fixed on her face, all others forgotten. _Oh no you don’t_. Picking up her skirts, Aarien hurried into a large group, weaving between them, glancing back to see a flustered Cullen trailing behind. Giggling to herself, she paused, giving him a big lusty wink, before disappearing from view. She would never forget the look on his face.

* * *

The ball was in full swing, and everyone was too having engrossed in their own fun to notice the Inquisitor wandering aimlessly. Strange, as she was expecting to be constantly harassed. It put forward the notion that nobles didn’t really care about her, just the party. _Hardly surprising._

Aarien had walked the breadth of the hall, around the library, out to the tavern and back again with still no sign of Hawke. _Where was she hiding?_ The venture wasn’t completely fruitless, she’d bumped into a few of her companions. Sera was in the tavern, drinking Antivans under the table, Bull egging her on. Outside Blackwall was loitering, face going bright red as he asked if she’d seen Josephine. Since sending her off to get changed, she hadn’t, but should couldn’t help teasing him a little before heading back into the hazy warmth of the hall. Spying Dorian lounging against a wall, she glided over to him.

'There you are, mighty leader – enjoying your ball?’

Leaning next to him, she accepted a glass of bubbly liquid from a passing servant. She sipped it, enjoying the prickling sensation across her tongue.

“I’ll admit, it’s not as bad as I thought.” He snorted, amused smile creeping onto his face as he looked her over.

“No it’s not…you clean up well by the way. I almost didn’t recognise you without blood and guts tangled in your hair.”

“There hasn’t been blood and guts for weeks now.”

“True, and it has done wonders for your aesthetic.”

Aarien glared, but smirked into her glass. The bubbles went straight to her head, sending the room into a pleasant wobble. Draining the glass, she set it down on a table and licked the taste from her lips. She was supposed to be finding someone.

“Have you seen Hawke by any chance?”  Dorian shook his head, stroking his chin as he regarded her.

“I didn’t even know she was here. I have seen Varric though, and the two are never far from each other. He went to the garden.”

Nodding in thanks, she turned to leave.

“Everything all right? Nothing I should be worried about?”

“No, just a quest for information.”

Grinning, she flicked her skirts out in a deep curtsey, making him chuckle. Waving her away, Aarien left him and headed to the door that Hawke was hopefully behind. Dodging drunken revellers, she paused at the woodwork, hand on the handle, to take a glance around. Her eyes scanned across the room, settling on an unimpressed amber pair staring back from the other side of the hall. Laughing, she pushed open the door and entered, vanishing from his sight once again.

* * *

  
Aarien spied them from across the garden, sat together on a bench, passing a bottle of whiskey back and forth. Varric clocked her, raising a hand to beckon.  

Heading out into the courtyard, her eyes widened in wonder as she noticed the same glowing, bobbing lights from the hall scattered around the grounds. The effect was breath-taking, golden light bathing the stone work and foliage, flickering into shadowed corners. The air was crisp and fresh, the usual biting edge lacking. Looking up, the sky was clear, stars twinkling against the inky black.

“How dare you accuse me of such things, dwarf. I would never let that happen.”

“Oh, you’ve forgotten about that time then, in the Hanged Man when you threw a bottle at -”

“I think you had one too many ales that night, my friend.”

“As did you. And wine. And whiskey.”

“You’re getting me confused with Isabela.”

Chuckling, she entered the gallery where they were sat, jovially bickering, words slurring somewhat. Hawke lounged back against the wall, dressed in dark brown leather jerkin and trousers, the silk shirt underneath a pale blue. Aarien begrudged her for a second, wishing she could have shirked the dress for a similar ensemble. It was only for a second, she truly loved her dress. Hawke smiled at her, running a hand through loose raven hair. Varric patted the bench, and Aarien, arranging her skirts, perched next to him. He was, of course, wearing the same red tunic.

“Inquisitor, escaping the masses?”

“Something like that. Though I came to find Hawke.” The woman sat up, peering round Varric, interest piqued.

“Me? You need me to do my party trick?” Varric snorted as he swigged from the bottle. Aarien’s eyebrows raised questioningly.

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“It involves a nug, a bucket of pastries and a fork.” Varric started giggling, Hawke grinning at him. _These two._

“Ahem, as much as want to see that -”

“Couple more bottles of wine and I’m there.”

“Um…okay. I want to know about Sebastian Vael.” Varric abruptly stopped his giggling, expression turning sour. Hawke frowned.

“Seb? Why Seb?”

“He’s here.” Both gaped, wide eyed.

“Seb’s here?”

“Yes.”

“Seb’s _here_? In Skyhold.” Aarien sighed, fiddling with the lace of her sleeve. “What did he say? Is he looking for me? Does he know I’m here?”

Hawke was flustered, her hand reaching out to grip Varric’s arm. The change from tipsy banter to tension bordering on fear unsettled her.

“He said something along the lines of making amends for Kirkwall. Or something like that.” She relaxed, albeit only a little, releasing the death grip on Varric and rubbing her legs.

“He still…blames me for Kirkwall. His people have been looking for me because he wants to find Anders.”

Aarien leant forward, not wishing any for any unknown loiterers to overhear their conversation. Keeping her tone quiet, she glanced around before continuing.

“So he’s still obsessed with him? You don’t believe he’s moved on?” Hawke laughed, a sharp bark of disbelief.

“Seb doesn’t know how to let go of a grudge. While in Kirkwall we hunted down and killed his family’s assassins.”

“Chantry Boy always seemed a little off to me. Spouting morals and judgements, yet quite happy to murder when it suited him.”

“That’s why I’m afraid what he’ll do if he knows I’m here – what he’ll do to find out where Anders is.”

It dawned on Aarien this wasn’t a case of spoilt nobility attending to be obnoxious. The Prince was here for Hawke. Somehow he had known she would be here, at the ball. The solution was simple.

“Varric, take Hawke out of here. Use the tunnels beneath Skyhold. It’s probably best if you go along the battlements, then down through the mage tower.”

Jumping to his feet, he nodded. Hawke stood and stretched, the movement reminiscent of a disgruntled cat woken from sleep. Sighing, she bent and pecked her on the cheek before striding off into the darkness.

“Thanks, sorry for bringing this mess here.” Aarien waved him off, shaking her head.

“There’s no mess, we’re just keeping Hawke safe. If she’s not here, no drama.”

Smiling reassuringly, she patted him on the arm as he walked past. If Sebastian was here for Hawke, then it was that easy. He wouldn’t find her, would leave and everything carried on. _If only all problems were solved so simply_. Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, Aarien settled back in the seat. The garden definitely seemed to be the place for couples, a few were giggling in the shadows, others strolling hand in hand. It was nice to have a moment, where it was quiet, beautiful even, with few people around.

Closing her eyes she leant back, the cold stone cooling against the bare skin of her neck. The muffled music from the hall drifted towards her, the lively tune making her smile. _Time for a dance?_ Cullen would no doubt be waiting.

A rustle to her left made her glance up, and her stomach dropped, eyes widening. He was leaning against a pillar, watching her silently. The dancing lights cast a warm glow over his face, hair transformed into a fiery gold, eyes black. Heart hammering, Aarien slid from the bench to stand, gaze fixed to his. Watching, enraptured, he stepped backwards, disappearing into the shadows. She couldn’t move. It was his next play, leaving the decision up to her, using himself as the bait. Once again she was at his mercy. Breasts heaved against her corset, desire returning with renewed fervour.

Stepping forward, she trailed a hand along the wall, not trusting trembling legs. He was no where to be seen, but she could sense his presence, a heaviness that lurked just out of reach. Pausing at the edge of darkness, the air fizzed around her with anticipation. A small smile crept onto her face as she thought of turning and leaving, prolonging the game. But she couldn’t. The longing for his touch, his _kiss_. It was driving her wild.

Moving forward into the shadow, she yelped as hands grabbed her waist and spun her around, backing her up against he wall. Lips pressed hotly against hers, a sweet tongue swiping in to steal her breath away. Hands cupped her face, then ran delicately down bare shoulders, sending sparks to her core. Each kiss was broken for a gasp, before plunging back. Roughly Cullen pressed himself harder against her, his warmth seeping through her dress to tingle against her skin. Running hands up to tangle in his hair, she lost herself in his embrace.

He left her lips to feather kisses along her jaw. Moaning softly, she stroked a hand down his arm, the tension in his bicep betraying his struggle with control.  

“You missed me then?”

Aarien’s throat caught as his hands slid down her sides to grasp her hips. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, she saw him smirk. His chest heaved against hers, the pressure causing pert nipples to rub roughly against lace.

“Well, when someone whispers a certain something in your ear…”

His hands travelled around to palm her buttocks, squeezing softly. Aarien could feel his growing hardness against her, and she rocked forward. The resulting gulp made her grin.

“Ah…it leaves you at a disadvantage.”

Slowly, he teased his leg between hers, lips brushing over her collarbone. A small moan escaped as he thrust his thigh against her. The fabric of her dress was bunching between her legs with his push, and the friction… _Maker_. Folds of silk slipped between her sex, gliding against skin, aided by the increasing slickness. Gripping his shoulders, her head rested back against the wall as he drove his thigh against her again.

“Cullen… _oh_ …”

Lips ghosting gently along her skin, his head descended down from her neck, lips brushing teasingly over her rising bosom. His tongue darted out to trace down over the soft mound to pause at the line of her corset. Dark eyes rose to fix on hers, and his tongue swiped down, under the fabric, to rasp against her nipple. The sensation jolted her forward, pushing her breast further into his mouth and swirling tongue.

“ _Fuck_.”

Gripping her thigh through the skirts, he pulled it up to his hip, grinding against her in the process. His lips found hers again, kissing fiercely, restraint at breaking point. Aarien was swept away on a current of pleasure, willing, no _begging_ , to drown in bliss. Any care for where they were, who might be near, was forgotten. Riding forward on his thigh, her wetness caused the silk to slide deeper, slipping over her clit with each thrust.

“I can’t…I…I… _want_ you”

It left his mouth as a growl, his head anchored in the crook of her neck, teeth biting skin to prove the point. Excruciatingly slowly, hips rolled against hips, strong hands pulling her against him. Her hands scrabbled for purchase on his shoulders, eyelids fluttering at the resulting shock wave coursing through her body. All Aarien could do was nod, gasping for air, for more. She just wanted him, _now_.

In a flurry of movement, he began to pull up her skirt, bunching it up on his arm. Calloused fingers connected with the skin of her thigh. Aarien gripped his waistband, fumbling over the buttons that would release him. Their kisses were desperate, passion unbridled as she popped the first button, and his hand slid up to her hip.

“Inquisitor?”

They froze, the faint question carrying from the garden. Aarien saw no one behind them, and they waited, panting, _wishing_ it was nothing. After a few moments of silence, Aarien grinned and slipped her hand into the opening at his crotch -

“Inquisitor, are you here?”

The call was louder this time. Rolling her eyes up, she cursed the Maker, the Creators, every damnable thing in this world and the next. Cullen rested his forehead against her shoulder, sighing as he reluctantly lowered her skirts. Freeing her from his grip, he stumbled to the side, re-buttoning his trousers. Stretching his arms out to brace against the wall, head bowed, Aarien heard him taking long, deep breaths. She herself leant back against the cold wall, sucking in as much air as the corset would allow. Readjusting her dress, checking everything was…contained, she took a shaky step forward. The weakness in her legs wasn’t going to make this easy. Pausing to lay a hand on his back, she felt him shaking in much the same way.

“You should go…I need…a moment.”

Pushing away from the wall, he took her hand and pressed it to his lips. Eyes flickered up to meet hers, the heat reigniting with one look. _Damn them all to the void._ Taking a step towards him, she reached out her other hand, caressing his cheek, stubble scraping across her palm.

“Inquisitor!”

The frantic tone made her drop her hands, and she hoped he could see her apologetic smile. Turning, Aarien left Cullen behind, stepping out of the shade into the courtyard. Knowing a look back would break her resolve, she lifted her chin and strode to where a man was waiting by the door. With each step her wet thighs rubbed torturous spasms across her core. Whatever she looked like, she didn’t care as she rounded on the messenger.

“This better be good.”

The servant shrank a few centimetres under the heat of her scorching look, fiddling with the edge of his tunic as he avoided her glare.

“Prince Vael asked to see you immediately Your Grace. He said it was urgent.”

Sighing, she grumbled under her breath. _It’s never simple, what was I thinking._ Nodding, Aarien gestured for the man to lead on. Chancing a glance back, she couldn’t see Cullen, no doubt still concealed in the shadows. Biting her lip in a smile, she marched back into the main hall.

* * *

Apparently she need not have worried anyone noticing the tousled state of her hair, or the red marks decorating her neck and shoulders. Half the guests seemed to be in a state of undress themselves – jackets flung on the floor, flushed faces laughing, lipstick smeared on cheeks. The ball must be a success.

Chuckling, Aarien threaded her way through the bustle. Her corset felt tight against her ribs, and she was struggling to draw in enough breath. _After effects of getting too…passionate?_ She was fed up of the restrictive garment now, imagining ripping it off and taking a deep, soothing breath. _Maybe Cullen ripping it off?_ Trying to keep up with the servant, she felt light headed as they paused at the door to Josephine’s chamber.

“The Prince is waiting for you in here m'lady.”

Clutching her stomach as the world started to spin, she though she said something, but couldn’t understand what. Carefully, she made her way inside. The room had been re-purposed as a sort of inn. Tables and chairs were scattered about, Josephine’s desk missing from the usual corner. Couples and groups chatted quietly as she peered about for Sebastian. Her vision was going worryingly fuzzy. _I just need to sit down._

Spotting him in the corner at the same moment he spied her, Aarien swallowed hard and adopted her best smile. Sebastian stood, his expression once again unreadable as he pulled back a chair for her.

“Your Highness, you wished to see me?” Flopping into the offered seat, she paced her breathing as black spots began to obscure her vision.

“Inquisitor, thank you for coming.” The Prince seated himself opposite, his eyes watching her very closely. Aarien swallowed hard as the sound of rushing blood filled her ears.

“Are you quite well, Aarien?” She shook her head, a voice at the back of her questioning his unconcerned look. In fact, his expression seemed edged with pity.

The thought lingered, as everything went black.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, thanks for reading! :D At this point, any feedback would be great - I'm really enjoying writing this, so I hope you're enjoying reading it! :)


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